Static
by bleeckerstreet12345
Summary: Love is the one emotion that everyone longs for and hates. For me, it is the one thing that I can always rely on to hurt. Because love is what got me into this mess in the first place. Love is why I cry in the bathroom with the water on so no one will hea
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I own the plot. That's it.   
  
This is for you, even if you'll never read it because it doesn't look like your ever going to speak to me again.   
  
  
  
Humans are capable of hundreds of different emotions. Most of them we can't label, can barely describe. A lot of them are negative, sadness, frustration, betrayal, the list goes on. Up until last year I was sure that guilt was the worst emotion. It eats you up inside, and not only does it hurt just as much as sadness, but it's all your fault too. I've become an expert on guilt in the past year. It's my best friend. It comes over on Friday nights and sits with me as I watch TV, it uses up the hot water and takes the last of the milk. Over the past couple of weeks its slowly been moving in. Leaving it's toothbrush here, then a suitcase, then two.   
  
It's not the worst though.   
  
Love.  
  
Love is the one emotion that everyone longs for and hates. For me, it is the one thing that I can always rely on to hurt. Because love is what got me into this mess in the first place. Love is why I cry in the bathroom with the water on so no one will hear me.   
  
I needed him. He was the one person in the world who could always make me smile. The only one I believed when he told me that everything would be alright.   
  
That's what they told me when it happened.   
  
"It'll be alright."  
  
"You'll be fine"  
  
"It wasn't your fault."  
  
It's not alright. And if your definition of "fine" is staring for hours on end at blank walls, the ocean, or the static on the TV screen. Then yes, I am fine. But you have some messed up standards.  
  
That's how my mind seems to work now. Like the static on the screen that shows up whenever there's a big storm. If I just push everything else, just focus on that stupid annoying buzzing sound, then I can get by. My body can continue to function without me. I talk, go to class, walk home.   
  
I just can't feel. Functioning and actually being alive are two very different things.   
  
It's been a year. A whole fucking year of this. I try not to look to far into the future because I know that if I do I'll realize that there are many more of these to come.   
  
I saw an article in the paper the other day, saying that love wasn't really an emotion. It was just a chemical reaction. That monogamy was ridiculous because being in love with one person throughout your life was only possible with major physiological instruction.   
  
Bullshit.   
  
I took chemistry in high school. No amount of hormones makes you feel like this. This hollow feeling doesn't have anything to do with a lack of oxygen.  
  
This is love. This is slowly dying of heartbreak. This is made even worse because no matter what they say, there are a million things I could have done to prevent it. This is my fault.   
  
I don't need sleeping pills or a razor. I can kill myself perfectly well, even if it is unintentionally.   
  
I didn't mean it Jesse.   
  
A/N-This actually isn't a one-shot for once. 


	2. Chapter 2

I sat on the roof as the sun set. Late August humidity has a way of settling over New York City as if it has homicidal intentions. It's suffocating, a wet blanket thrown over everything from Harlem to the Financial District. And the worst part is it makes my hair turn into a ball of frizz. The sounds of the saxophonist down the street drifted up on the thick air. Two men stood under an overhang passing a joint back and forth. The air was damp, heavy with unspoken promises of rain. I lean over the railing of the roof, carelessly enough to provoke a,  
  
"Suicide is bad Suze," from my roommate, Anna. I smiled, but the smile didn't reach my eyes. I got up and brushed myself off. The dirt here is different than the dirt in California. It's funny, that was the first thing I noticed when I moved Palo Alto. The dirt in New York is strange, it's the kind you can either hate or live of off. The kind made up of grime, tears, ash, cigarette butts, lipstick smears, electrical dust, and McDonald's dollar menu bags. Anna watches me closely as I walk towards the door back to our dorm. Her eyes narrow slightly as I walk toward her and she cocks her head at me. She takes a last drag on her cigarette before crushing it under her foot. She nods her head at me,  
  
"Who's Jesse?" She asks as I reach for the doorknob. I freeze. I try to say something but it comes out as more of a croak than a word. I clear my throat.   
  
"Ho-how do you know about Jesse?" I ask, my hand clenching the doorknob.   
  
"You talk in your sleep. Usually you just mumble his name, but last night you woke yourself up yelling." she says. I turn around slowly.  
  
"You..."I start.  
  
"Yeah, I was awake." she says, sitting down on one of the milk cartons we stole to use as furniture. "So. Spill. Who is he?" When I don't say anything she sighs and gestures toward another milk carton with a freshly lite cigarette. "Sit." I sit.  
  
"You smoke too much." I say. She shrugs.   
  
"We weren't talking about me." she says.   
  
"Jesse was just a guy I knew." I say miserably. "Just a guy I knew."   
  
"Uh huh." Anna said steadily. "And Hitler was just another law abiding citizen."  
  
"Don't compare him to Hitler." I mumble trying to come up with a lie.  
  
"Sorry." she says swinging her foot toward a coke can and stopping just before she kicks it. She looked at me for a minute. "Who is he really?"   
  
"Why is this important?" I mumble. She rolls her eyes.  
  
"Because I've lived with you for a year now, you haven't gone out with anyone, and now you wake up yelling some guys name, terrified half to death. Something's wrong."   
  
"Nothings wrong." I say, avoiding looking her in the eyes. Instead I watch the pigeons. They seem to be in the middle of some strange kind of mass suicide that involves doing what could pass as a back-flip off the edge of the roof. I make a mental note to ask Danny, the homeless guy on the corner, if he started feeding them pot instead of bread crumbs again. I can feel Anna glaring at me. I sort of wish I was a pigeon.   
  
"Come on Suze. Don't give me that crap." she says, the untouched cigarette burning in her hand.  
  
"Your gonna burn yourself." I point out. She drops it and crushes it under her foot again, only to light another one. She looks at me expectantly, eyebrows raised. I take a deep breath.  
  
"He was just a guy. Back in California....we were...in love and I screwed it up. The next day he was gone. I couldn't find him anywhere." I said quietly.   
  
"What happened?" Anna said. I look at her, and for a second I seriously consider telling her the truth.   
  
"He was in a car accident." I lie. Anna doesn't say anything for awhile. The last pigeon falls. Entertainment over, I see my chance to escape. I get up and walk towards the door.  
  
"Are you ever going to tell me what really happened?" She asks. I laugh, but it sounds hallow even to my own ears.  
  
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." I pull open the door and shut it quickly behind me. 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: i own the plot and Anna. nothing else. Please don't sue me. I have a guitar and a Walmart smock. You can have the walmart smock.  
  
The next morning I got out of bed as quietly as humanly possible so that Anna wouldn't wake up. On my way to class I stopped at one of the several million Starbucks that have sprung up all over The City. Back in California I never drank coffee, I never even drank coffee when I lived in Brooklyn before I moved, but life in Manhattan post-Jesse demands caffeine, and lots of it. Lucky for me it seems that there are at least two Starbucks on every block.   
  
Praise God for massive corporations.   
  
I made it to NYU just in time for my first class, but then proceeded to completely zone out through the next two hours.   
  
Anna knew about Jesse.  
  
ANNA knew about JESSE.   
  
Maybe that doesn't seem like such a big deal to everyone out there who is completely secure in their sanity, but for me it was like one of those cracks on your windshield. You know, the ones where are relatively small rock hits it and cracks it just a little bit, but it slowly becomes bigger until you have this gigantic hole in your windshield and when your mom finally notices it she starts to consider the possibility that her offspring may be mentally disabled.   
  
Not that this happened to me or anything.  
  
How did I get on to this? Right. Anna. Jesse.   
  
My problem wasn't that Anna might find out the truth about Jesse, she probably wouldn't be all that freaked out. No, my problem is way bigger than that.   
  
Anna bringing up Jesse made him real again.   
  
Okay, I've probably just confused the shit out of you. I don't mean to say that Jesse isn't....wasn't real. But for the past year I've carefully avoided even thinking his name. Static. That all that was left. A fuzzy sound, image, smell, you name it, where he used to be. It's worked too. I've been fine.  
  
Okay so that's a lie. I haven't been fine. I've been functioning. I've been getting by. I've been holding up. All the supportive synonyms people use at funerals to describe a person with a very well placed mask.   
  
I know, I know. Any decent physiologist would be horrified by this kind of grieving, and I guess on some level I do realize that what I'm doing is only going to work in the short run, and probably land me in massive therapy later on in life. But I can't think about later on in life. Later On In Life is a place guidance councilors and parents talk about as if it's a foreign country. Maybe it is. I don't really care. At this point it's hard enough to survive in the present, let alone deal with Later On In Life at the same time.  
  
That's why I don't have any plans for the future. It's not because I'm juvenile and irresponsible like my mom has told me many times in the past year. It's because if I plan my future, that means I'm going to have to plan it without Jesse.   
  
"Ms.Simon? Ms. Simon? Class is over." I glance up into the face of the professor. What was his name? I knew this once.   
  
"Ms. Simon?"he repeats looking worried. I sigh,  
  
"Yah... yah sorry." I saw grabbing my bag and giving him a weak smile before walking out the door. I walk quickly down the hall, almost running by the time I get to the door. When I get outside I don't go back to my dorm, I keep walking up town. I end up in Central Park, standing in front of the Alice in Wonderland statue. I stare at it for a second, then I push my bag over my shoulder and start climbing up it. I sit next to Alice.   
  
"I would have had the Cheshire Cat knock off the Queen if I was you." I said looking at her, earning me a weird look from a passing older couple. Alice doesn't respond obviously, her face molded into the same expression she's been wearing for the past howevermanyyears. For some reason it's hard for me to believe that New York City didn't just spring up exactly as it is, that this Alice in Wonderland statue hasn't existed for all eternity. For some reason it's strangely comforting.  
  
I sit on that Statue from noon until around 6, when the sun starts setting.   
  
Jesse would've like this.   
  
I try to call him. For the first time since he....left....I try to call. Nothing. I get nothing.   
  
"I miss you." I whisper, leaning against Alice. I don't notice I'm crying until I see a tear sliding down her cheek, and realize it's coming from me.   
  
"Miss? Excuse me...miss?" a voice says behind me. I wipe my eyes and turn around. A tall guy stands awkwardly next to the statue, running a hand through his hair, obviously having noticed me crying. "Um...you should really be getting home, this park is kind of dangerous after dark." he says scuffing his feet in the dirt.   
  
"Yah."I say swiping the back of my hand over my cheeks, "thanks." He smiles and walks away, turning back a few feet away to make sure I actually got off the statue. I wave and he grins and salutes me. I walk back to my dorm, realize I forgot my keys and have to buzz Anna for about ten minutes before lets me in. She leans over the banister on the landing as I walk up the last flight of stairs.  
  
"Hey," she says smiling, "there's some guy here, says he knows you from California." 


	4. Chapter 4

I freeze in the stairwell. my apartment is in a rundown former warehouse so i've just walked up twelve flights of stairs and i'm not sure if i have the energy to run away if this guy who knows me from California turns out to be Paul.

I purposely do not consider the possibility of it being Jesse. It's really not healthy.

I am saved from either a marathon sprint or a possible heart attack by Adam, whose head appears grinning at me over the stairs. Dissapointment and relief leave a taste in my mouth that reminds me vaguely of Robutussion cough drops.

"Hey Suze" he says, "How's the big apple?" i laugh

"don't say big apple." i reply, limping up the last flight of stairs and giving him a hug. "these stairs are insane." i tell Anna.

"hey, if you can't take the heat get out of the warehouse" she says over her shoulder.

"I'll put that in my suicide note." i say to her back. She laughs and walks back into her room, waving a goodbye to Adam.

"Hungry?" i ask him. He nods emphatically. We walk around the corner to Joe's Pizzaria.

"So," i say, "why are you here?" he freezes for a half second, then recovers and continues chewing.

"I was....in the neighborhood and i decided i might as well come visit you. Besides, where else can i find pizza this greasy?"he says nonchalantly.

"You were in the neighborhood."

"yeah." he says.

"Adam. You go to school in North Carolina." i say. he drums the table with his fingers, glances up at me, looks back down, then back up again.

"Okay look, don't freak out. And don't do anything drastic. And for christs sake Suze don't go back to California." he says in a rush.

"What the hell are you talking about?" i say. he sighs.

"Shit has been happening. weird shit. Your room was ransacked, nothing else, just your room and then...." he trails off and rummages in his pocket. He pulls out a piece of white paper that has been refolded many times, torn at the creases. He pushes it across the table towards me.

"and then this." he says. I pick up the paper. The writing is bold, black, and decisive.

"Father Dom got one too." he says, "so did Cee Cee." I stare at the paper in utter disbelief.

_**Donde esta Susannah?**_


	5. Chapter 5

**_Donde esta Susannah?_**

I took Spanish senior year. I know enough.

_**Where is Susannah?**_

Okay. I mediate the dead. Mediate. A word usually associated with marriage counseling or lawyers. Or both. So you'd think that being a Mediator I would have some sort of superhuman grip on emotion. That it would just, you know, come with the job description.

But no. Not even close. It's clear that whoever is so desperate to get the dead to their eternal rest has very little regard for their poor emotionally fraught employees.

I'm glad I'm sitting down because suddenly muscles that have never presented the slightest problem are failing entirely.

"Suze? Suze? Suze!" Adam is leaning over the table, shaking me slightly.

"This is Jesse's handwriting," I mumble, and you have to give Adam credit for even hearing me. His face relaxes slightly when he sees I haven't slipped into a coma and he sighs.

"Yeah, we figured as much." He says, sitting back, watching me carefully.

"Jesse is dead." I say. He nods.

"Yah Cee Cee told me." he says. I look towards him. I'd forgotten he didn't know. Woops.

"Look, Suze, I know this is a shock. But I need you to promise me you won't go home, okay? It's important," he has been trying to catch my eye and at that I look at him, alarmed.

"Why the hell not?" I demand. He moans.

"Because," he says, "Father Dom isn't entirely sure that Jesse is...well. Himself. What with the Spanish and the not actually talking to anyone." I stare at him.

"So you want me to...what? What do you expect me to do exactly? Sit here on the other side of the country and twiddle my thumbs until you figure out what's going on or Jesse just goes away?" I am getting out of the booth, grabbing my bag, "Not a chance Adam." I step towards him, hug him hard.

"Thanks," I say, "But I'm going." he calls after me but I'm already on the street, running back to my apartment.

Rosa's Pizza, where I've been eating with Adam, is on 27th and 7th. 27th and 7th is not a pretty street. I've never seen anything more beautiful.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer-**

**I own nothing. 'Cept the plot. **

Okay. So remember when I ran out of the pizza parlor onto seventh avenue and sprinted back to my apartment, narrowly escaping almost certain death by the hands of many an irritated cab driver?

Remember? The big romantic gesture? Very dramatic?

Right. Well that was a week ago.

No, for christssake. I'm not getting cold feet. But let's be realistic here. I'm a college student. A college student who lives off campus. A college student who waitresses at Artie's Diner. A college student whose budget does not include spur of the moment plane tickets to California.

And besides, I have this pesky thing called a conscience that staunchly refuses to let me take off without warning and stick my roommate with a months rent to pay all by her lonesome. Have you seen New York rent? For awhile when we were looking for apartments the best we could find was a one bedroom in Harlem for 1,000 bucks a month. 1,000 bucks. Stupid real estate market.

Anyway. So not the point. Point is I was totally planning on hopping on a plane and tracking him down, using, you know, Ghostbusters equipment that I would have somehow acquired during the plane ride and modified to track only Jesse. Really. That was my strategy. I was even planning on sitting next to some wise looking old man who would ask me why I looked so nervous and tell me exactly what to say to my dead boyfriend whose heart I broke.

About that. I'll explain later, I swear. And yes, I, Susannah Simon, am scum. Leave it at that for now.

In my fantasy the aforementioned wise old man would even turn out be a ghost and by the time we were done talking the entire plane would be staring at my like I'd grown six heads. But would I mind? No. See? Totally true love.

But my plan failed, completely and utterly, and after a week of fund-raising, here I sit, at long last, on a Greyhound bus bound for L.A., next to a guy who could give any sumo wrestler a run for their money. He's holding two small fluffy white dogs in a bag in his lap. I won't describe the smell. See? Again, true love.

Yah I know. Shut up. You don't have to tell me. I'm babbling.

Because the fact is, I _am_ getting cold feet. I'm terrified that once I get there he'll be waiting for me, sitting on my windowsill, and he'll turn on me with those eyes of his and he'll want answers that he deserves and I won't know what to say.

Or worse, he won't be there. He won't be there because this is all some elaborate hoax, engineered by someone who really, really, really, really, really wants to hurt me.

That's what's running through my head over the three days and eighteen hours it takes to get from New York to California. What if I don't know what to say, what if this is a joke, this is a joke Suze, there's no way, the dead are dead, forget them and start living, what if he's there, oh fuck he better be there, turn around now, it's a trap, the dead aren't dead, I'm a mediator, no one dies, nothing about death is certain, he could come back, he could be there, you can't lose this chance Susannah Simon, that'll kill you, this will kill you, this is Paul isn't it, this is totally Paul relieving high school glory days, probably doesn't even know Jesse is dead, or gone, or whatever, the dead won't stop dying.

When I get off in L.A. I'm pretty sure I'm losing my mind. I wash my face in the bathroom, brush my hair, teeth, apply makeup, change clothing, ready, set, go.

And I'm off. The cab drops me off in front of my old house and I stare up at it, reluctant to go inside and face reality. To late though, David had spotted me, is running outside and tackling me with, what I assume, is his version of a hug. He's tall now, by the way. It's weird.

"Suze! What're you doing here?" he asks, grinning, "I thought you said you weren't coming home for Brad's birthday!" I grin, and abruptly stop my frantic search for a believable lie. I forgot. Brad's twenty first birthday. I have never been so happy that Brad was born. I probably won't be again. I should savor this moment.

"Change of plans. New York's gross this time of year." I say, shrugging. He smiles.

"I've got to go to school, but I'll be back around five," he says, "Mom and Dad are gone for the weekend. Obviously. Don't worry," he says when he sees the look on my face, "I locked up all the valuables."

A quick hug goodbye and then he's in his car, driving away, and I'm still staring up at the house.

I avoid going upstairs right away when I get inside. I pour a glass of water, wander around the kitchen, trying to see if anything's changed, but eventually I can't avoid it and I go up.

**Don't worry. He'll enter soon. **


End file.
